


The Boundaries of a Promise

by AnOddSock



Category: Jamestown (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Arguing, Blindfolds, Control, Dom/sub, F/M, Feelings, Light Dom/sub, Painplay, Power Dynamics, Sadism, Sensation Play, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 17:36:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20012206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock
Summary: Ever there was this push and shove and drawing away and gambling closer, between them. With no way to know where it would lead.Once Jocelyn knew the taste and touch of the blacksmith, and the way he gave in to her every whim, it was hard not to indulge at every opportunity.





	The Boundaries of a Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime in season 2, specifics be damned! Their dynamic is the thing I loved most about the show, and I always enjoyed thinking of the power play between them. I could see Jocelyn domming the stuffing out of him, and well... I just had to write it.
> 
> I considered making it a modern AU but found this worked just as well. I'm sure that even though the terms used in BDSM weren't known way back when, that people have been freaky and naughty forever and a day. So this is a little look into what I thought it might look like between the two of them.
> 
> Full disclosure, not everything here is safe or sane, though it is consensual. And their dynamic isn't necessarily the most healthy, I tried to stick to how it came across to me in the show. Nothing is described in any great detail, but if this isn't your thing- don't like, don't read.
> 
> But if you're still in, enjoy!

It was new between them, this thing. It had never been frantic, not exactly, always requiring plans and finding the time to sneak away together. But now, now she’d had some time to think it over, and no longer were their couplings hurried, done with barely removing their garments lest they had to rush away.

Now she had the luxury of considering things that might please her greatly.

“What, exactly, is this for?” James asked, holding one of her ribbons between his hands. It was the only cloth near his body, she’d taken great delight in divesting him piece by piece of the rest of this garments.

“Well a lady cannot be expected to bare herself for any man, without feeling sure his gaze is worthy. I think you can do just fine without sight for a while, do you not agree?”

He shifted, foot to foot, rubbing the material between thumb and forefinger. “Speak plainly, for once, woman.”

“Tsk, now now, are you in such a rush?”

“You might be more inclined to wish things along if you were also naked.”

“But I am not, and so I can take all the time in the world.” she smiled at him, the anticipation of pleasure curling low in her gut. She leaned in, stretching up onto her toes to whisper in his ear. “I want you to blindfold yourself.”

He blinked, frown deepening, and she watched the way his rough stubble flexed and rippled as he worked his jaw. “What do you expect to accomplish once you blind me?”

“It’s a simple request. Fight me on it if you like, I do enjoy wearing you down regardless of your first intentions.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Nothing is ever simple wi’ you.”

She kissed him chastely on the lips, tilting his head aside with her clean, small hands. He’d washed thoroughly, and he looked a little wrong without the soot and grime that usually covered him like a second skin. “I can do more, once I know you won’t be taking liberties and seeing what you are not entitled to.”

He smiled, crooked, nearly laughing. The material wrapped easily around his head and he knotted it with practiced ease. Always so good with his hands.

* * *

“Would you kneel for me?” She asked, unpinning her hat and throwing it aside into the hay.

“I would do almost anything if it pleased you.” He would not look at her for more than a second, before his eyes slid away and focused on some faraway point. She watched this with faint amusement, wondering what he was thinking, or trying not to think.

“I do not want you to kneel because you think I want you to.” She said, as she circled him, running her fingers across his muscled back and his tattered shirt. “This land is full enough with men who try to placate and control me for their own ends, I only want you to kneel if you want it. Knowing you may get nothing in return, be it purely to fulfil your own desires.”

She came to face him again and waited, as he looked straight ahead. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. And then he sank to his knees in the dirt of the barn, and she nodded, satisfied.  


* * *

~~~~

“Jocelyn,” he began, stepping close. She drew back, startled a little at his familiarity. Nobody called her by name, nobody besides Alice and occasionally Verity. It felt good, like an ember sparking inside her chest, and yet felt wrong, coming from a man. Though she supposed they were especially close now.

“Are we on such familiar terms?” She asked, thinking aloud.

“Are we not? I cannot call you another man’s widow while we do… while we are so intimate.”

“No, I suppose that must not do.” she held his hand in hers, entwining their fingers. “Mistress Castell, then? As we used to be?”

He smiled, tilting his head, “As you wish, Mistress.”

She waited, breath caught, for the end of the name. Waited, and was left waiting. Mistress. Just Mistress. He kissed her hand, and nodded, murmured it again. And again. Mistress. Mistress. Each one paired with a touch of his lips to her skin.

* * *

She had a fireplace poker in her hands, heavy and weighted, strong black metal that looked just the thing James would have made himself. He didn’t make this one, and she had half a fleeting moment of wishing he had.

Still, no matter, he was under her hands now and that was enough to be getting along with. There wasn’t room for sentimentality. He was knelt before her again, bare chested with his breeches pulling tight across his nether regions. His cock finally getting accustomed to their games, it was standing to attention already.

He looked up at her unwavering and she swung the point of the poker in front of his face. Feeling in control was addictive, a balm to her weariness, and a light to her dark. She felt powerful now, standing over him, and it called for more. She yearned for more.

“Do you fear this?” She asked, doing her best to contain the glee that unfolded inside her at the thought.

“No, Mistress, what could that do to me?”

“We shall see.”

She held it steady and traced the line of his jaw, pushing his head aside. He let her, and she moved slowly, scraping it against the tender skin. He winced slightly, barely perceptible, and she let her mouth twitch up at the corner. Wonder spoke to power and made her even more curious.

She couldn’t see if it had left any mark, his rough-shaven face masking any noticeable sign, and that didn’t sate her curiosity. She dragged it lower, down his throat, and pressed harder as neck became shoulder. He didn’t flinch but his breath caught. In the dim light she could see a faint red line drawn against the tan of his skin. It pleased her, made her head swim a little with caught breath.

She did it again. And again.

She moved around him, tracing every muscle, every contour. The shape of his chest and the planes of his stomach, round to the curves of his back and bulge of his working man’s arms. Angry scrapes, daring red designs, line after line she drew on his body until he was criss-crossed with them like the finest lattice work. The first had begun to fade as she worked her way back to his front. She dropped the poker with a clatter and it was the first time he flinched.

His breath was rapid, his pulse jumping, and she wanted to feel that with her own hands, to touch the beauty she had made. She knelt next to him and covered every disappearing line with her fingertips, one after the other, revelling in the feeling of his skin jumping under her touch.

When she thought she couldn’t stand to be so close and yet so far for another second, he growled once and drew her towards him. They kissed and she used her nails to bring the patterns out anew.

* * *

She was furious, raging, barely able to stay her pacing. Her heart beating in high speed inside her ribs, even James’ presence not the balm it usually was. She had been wronged, she would continue to be wronged, looked over and looked down upon. Even in this, whatever this was between them, they did not have the luxury of being open.

“It galls me so that Secretary Farlow gets to enjoy his companion and not be chastised. It is endlessly frustrating to tow the line as a fine woman in this town and yet have others be able to pick and choose what parts of society they prefer to live by.”

“You are jealous of Simeon for something entirely outside of his control. He could have been ridiculed, and thrown out of town into the dust. Only the doctor’s careful words kept him safe.” James replied, leaning against a wooden beam.

“I am a little jealous I will admit. I also think we could have been fine friends if he weren’t already in bed with Farlow. But in any case the double standard from the governor and Marshall Reddick is infuriating. Were I am man they would not treat me so.”

“Do you wish you were a man?”

“I wish I had the respect that a man invites, I wish I had the command he can take without a moment's hesitation, to be so arrogant and have it please those around him rather than bring disdain and dismissal. I wish those around me would not fear me for being just as clever and able to accomplish twice as much if I were only given opportunity! But no, I do not wish to be man, I would not wish for that in a thousand years, to be leering and cretinous and unwashed and stupid. Men are the problem here and because you are a man you cannot see it!”

She turned on the spot and paced in the opposite direction, but James caught her arm and spun her around.

“You think I do not see the corruption that goes on around me? You think there is no reason I don’t involve myself in politics and scheming? I know my place, and it is far away from all of that, and that is the way I would rather it be. I may be dirty, Jocelyn, but I am not made of filth like the rest of them.”

He leaned into her space, making her pulse jump ever higher. She pushed against his chest, wanting him away, wanting to claw his face and draw him close all at once.  
“Yes, you keep to your little life and your little smithy and let the rest of the world struggle on around you and do nothing!”

“You are not angry at me, why must you fight so!”

“I am angry at you, I am angry at every man, why else do you think I come here? It is but a way to distract myself.”

“Well then let me distract you for heaven's sake.”

He surged forward gripping her wrists, one in each hand, and pulled her arms around him, placing them behind him. Then he reached up and brushed her neck, down her back, fingers dancing over the ribbons on her dress. She stood, still as stone, barely daring to breathe lest she spewed more hatred that made him leave. Slowly, his fingers moved, plucking open the fastenings on her clothes one by one.

That, even though she craved it, flared her anger bright.

“You would undress me before you undress yourself?” She asked bitterly, knowing she was clawing at him with her words without provocation.

“Only because I am not sure I need to undress for this, now hush and let me focus.”

“And if I do not want you to focus?”

“What do you want?” he said, leaning back, looking deep into her eyes.

“To be obeyed.”

“Then give me an order.”

“Do not stop.”

And she was pleased to see that he didn’t fumble, removing her clothes in a slow and sensual fashion. Draping each item carefully beside them so they would not crumple.

“You are wrong though,” he said, quietly.

“About which thing, pray tell, would you educate me?” She said, icily, turning her gaze on him as he laid her down in the straw.

“You like that they are afraid of you, just as you like for me to fear you in reverence.”

She made a non commital noise, placing her hand behind his head and scratching across the scars and welts that mapped his skull under his shorn hair. “Perhaps a little, do you think that makes me crass?”

“I think it makes you dangerous.”

“You are not opposed to a little danger though are you?”

He kissed her cheek, her neck, and her collarbone, and nothing had ever felt as much like fire across her skin as his touch.

“I know what I can handle,” he murmured against her skin.

It irked her, that he thought of handling her, of placating her with kisses and sweet touches like she could be so easily swayed. She grabbed for his head, directing his movements with her hands clasped around it. He didn’t resist, didn’t waver, and she vowed not to make a sound as he pleasured her. No man deserved rewards this day, not even deserving the sound of her voice.

* * *

It had taken a long time to be comfortable being without clothes in front of him, a long time and many private blushes. But still, she was good at wearing her mask and if she’d ever slipped and shown her discomfort James had never spoken about it.

Here though, now, in her own house, on her own furniture, she sat straight backed and poised. Just because there wasn’t a stitch of clothing on her did not mean she would carry herself any differently.

Mercy was, mercifully, gone for the night. It had taken an age to convince her, lord knows the child was insistent, but eventually she had convinced Mercy that taking care of a sick friend was definitely what the good lord would prefer her to do. Mercy needn’t know there were very _un_ godly things happening under their roof while she spent the night elsewhere.

So here she was, and here he was, and there was nothing between them but the quiet of the room and several flickering candles. It was much preferable to the dark dankness of the barns and outhouses they were more regularly confined to during their time together.

“So, James Read, whatever shall we do now?” she liked saying his whole name, still, even after their intimacy. It shone stark light on the differences between them, of how he revered her and she was free to scorn him without him minding.

“I believe it is customary for the disrobed parties to breathe the same air for a while, amongst other things,” he said with a smile, and a glint in his eye.

“But you have bestowed upon me the honour of your company, perhaps I should like to make use of it.”

“And how, pray tell, Mistress, would you make use of me?” he spread his hands, a gesture of good will, showing his patience.

“Well, there is a large pot above the stove that is caked in grime that Mercy could not scrub clean. Perhaps you would be so kind…”

He got to his feet with a sigh. “You would think of your maid and your household at a time like this?”

“I would think of whatever pleases me, and seeing you work for a reward will please me greatly.” She lifted her wine to her lips and took a polite sip, nodding her head towards the other room.

He left, and she followed. And there was much to appreciate, then and later.

When he finally laid her down on her bed his eyes were drooping with exhaustion, and she kissed them both one after the other. She rolled him over and made it clear he was expected not to move.

He did not, apart from the one very small part of him that stood tall to attention when she coaxed him too it, and she rewarded him faithfully.

* * *

  
He was brittle today, ready to crack. Things had been strained for some time, and it showed in the clench of his jaw.

She moved to kiss him and he reached up to cup her face.

“Ah ah, not today.” she batted his hands away, and he huffed in annoyance.

“Where do you want me?” he asked, and it was hollow and she hated that. It was sour in her mouth, and in her heart.

“Now, so sudden, do you not crave my company?”

He looked pained at her question, before his eyes were cast downward.

“More than you know, m’lady.”

The change of name startled her, and she bristled in response. Their relationship, ever tenuous, was losing its footing. “I do so miss you, when we are apart,” she said quietly.

He sighed, leaning toward her, eyes closed, and then open wide and searching her face.

“But not enough to change anything. Unless I am mistaken, and you have had a change of heart?”

“What must our hearts have to do with anything? And you did promise not to love me.” He had, all those many weeks ago, in her worry she had demanded it as reassurance. It still held, it was still what she needed. She couldn’t be compromised, not with softness, and love brought softening and weakening. “Am I not enough, is this — what is between us — not sufficient?”

“For today, it may be.”

“Then hush, and do as you are told.”

“You have not instructed me yet,” he said with a wry smile, head shifting to look at her askance. “Am I to guess at your wants?”

“No guessing and, I think, today, no touching.” she moved behind him, gathering up his hands until he clasped them horizontally across the small of his back. “Lay down.”

He moved, letting go his arms and she squeezed the back of his neck. “Ah ah, you forget yourself.”

He laughed, and sank lower to his knees, before putting his arms back into position. It should have been awkward watching him tilt backwards without his arms to steady himself, but he made it look powerful. Strength contained, muscles heavy and flexing. He ended up on his back, his hips raised, his arms pinned painfully below him. His feet braced at the toe upon the ground.

She stood over him, surveying her prize, used her foot to tilt his head this way and that. “Ever so willing,” she breathed.

“For you, as you ask. Only in this.”

She straddled him, and watched as he fought the instinct to reach out and touch. To cup and caress. “Good, very good.” She praised him. And leaned over, her untied hair ticking at his face. “Be still, and very very quiet.”

He clenched, tightening his hold, forcing his muscles to lock into place. And she did all the work, watching the sheen of sweat that developed across him as he fought against the pain and the desire, and her own furious will.

* * *

He scalded himself one day on the hot wax of a candle, hissing as it dripped onto his hand. She watched, impassive, as he hurriedly cleaned his hand and righted the burning candle in its place.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, looking at him sidelong.

“Only a little.”

“Are you not used to the flame and the heat, working over it every day?”

“I may withstand it better than most, but I wouldn’t be blacksmithing very well if I got my skin covered in the molten metal.”

“Perhaps we should test you, see what you can endure,” she teased, enjoying the taste of humour on her tongue. “You could be the best blacksmith in all the colonies, withstanding the very flames you tame.”

“I saw a man walk across hot coals once, like it were nothing more than stones. It seemed like some parlour trick.” he wiped his red hand on his breeches, watching her carefully.

“For me though, you would indulge in such tricks?”

“I see the idea has taken root in you,” he said with a put-upon sigh, “what game now?”

She had him stand, stripped to only his under clothes, and raise his arms up and out to the level of his shoulders. Carefully she picked up the candle in its gleaming metal holder, and walked around him.

“Hold for me, if you can,” she ran a hand along the length of his outstretched arm. “I will enjoy watching you stand like this, given over to me, if you May endure it. I’ll certainly make it worth your while.”

He grimaced, but nodded, and shifted, trying to hide his desire from her. She had seen though, the way his manhood stiffened at the very thought of her touch. It would not be her touch he felt now.

She had him close his eyes, and waited, and then dribbled a small amount of candle wax onto his upturned wrist. He grit his teeth in a cry, flexing his hand at the pain. The dribble of white ran smoothly down his arm to drip from the bottom onto the floor below, leaving a cooling trail behind it. His arm jerked once, before he held it back in place.

“So brave, my strong blacksmith,” she cooed, tapping the hardened wax with her finger.

He looked so pleasing, bared for her, and with yellow-white wax painting his skin. Her mind settled, finally quieting, with something to focus on. Something she was in control of.

She dropped a second spill in a matching line to run the other side of his wrist. He held back a yell and his arms dropped, as he breathed ragged.

She soothed him, lifting his elbow and encouraging him to realign his arms, until he stood tall and proud again. She moved back and forth between both arms, dotting his forearms from elbow to wrist with the burning liquid.

He trembled where he was held, hands clenched into fists and face screwed up in pain. Until he cried out her name at last, and opened his eyes searching for her. “Enough!”

He dropped to his knee, grabbing for her wrist. The candle sputtered and went out, and she knelt before him. “Show me a man who can endure more than you, and take some measure of pleasure from it, and I may be swayed. But you… sweet James, you steal the very breath from my lungs and replace it with awe.”

It was carnal, and desperate, this bond they shared and forged. But it was woe and dread too, as they clashed and never calmed. He became wrecked and pulled her into a lip bruising kiss, hauling her down onto the cold stone floor.

“I loathe the things you stir in me,” he said between biting at her lips, “I don’t much care where it comes from, but you have a habit of bringing out the worst in me.”

“And I give nothing back, do I?” She replied, turning her face for him to mouth at her neck.

“You give away nothing, Lord have mercy how it irks me. And yet still…”

“Still you do as I ask.” She smiled against his cheek, clinging with careful hands, holding him close. “Still I tame you.”

He scoffed, and turned away, shifting his breeches to cover his want, seeming ashamed. “There will be no taming of me today, you had your fun, that will have to suffice.

Ever there was this push and shove and drawing away and gambling closer, between them. With no way to know where it would lead.

* * *

As things between them faded from the strong bright fire, to a dimming dwindling clash of bodies and teeth and words they grew apart. They parted more often than not on terse words and unhappy moments.

She found herself angry and enraged, both with him and the lack of him, and struck him. He endured it once, but only once. And she moved to slap him again, in the street, and he caught her hand.

And no more, then, after that did they meet. It pained her, the loss of the thing that had been strong between them. She was fortified with all else she had to worry over, refusing to wallow on what she had had for a time and lost; only in her very private moments allowing the longing of a warm body — his warm bulk and might — beside her to creep into her mind. Only sighed, now and then, at feeling more alone.

But even so, she could never quite mind what had transpired. And wondered, time and again, if he would keep his promise, if he had, or if his heart stirred toward her even now. Then she knew she had done right to push him until he couldn’t return.

For she could not love.

And she did not want to be the one to make him break his word.

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom is so small, I know if you want this ship it's hard to come by, so I hope it did them justice.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Personally I love the dialogue the most, that was the bit I found came easiest.
> 
> Thanks for reading 😊


End file.
